


Mister Money Bags

by ROTwhyler



Category: Total Drama (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, I'm Bad At Tagging, Multi, Please suggest tags for this, Swearing, will add tags as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:19:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ROTwhyler/pseuds/ROTwhyler
Summary: 'Oh mister money bags, you're fat and you're contentoh mister money bags, your money's poorly spentyou bought a palace to hoard your glee,you bought a whore to spill your seed.'After Total Drama aired for one season, Noah's life has been a series of misfortunes and failures. Now twenty years old and down on his luck, he does the only thing he can think to do - go find Owen, his old friend, and the show's winner, and try to squeeze as much out of him as possible. Inspired by the song 'Mister Money Bags' by 'Jack Conte'.
Relationships: Izzy/Owen (Total Drama), Noah/Owen (Total Drama)
Kudos: 4





	Mister Money Bags

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I have no idea where this is going really. It will likely contain some mild adult content, hence the rating, but nothing weird or explicit. It will also deal with themes of mental illness and poverty, and possibly some other heavy topics? I'll update the story's tags (and summary) as needed, feel free to comment and ask for certain things to be tagged if need be as well! I promise Izzy will make an appearance soon, that's one of the things I actually have planned. Thanks for reading! <3

It wasn’t Noah’s first option. It wasn’t his second, or his third either. In fact, it was his last resort, and he was pretty pissed about it. Of all the desperate, shameful things he’d ever done in his life, this had to be the worst of it, and he could only imagine the jolly man’s _laughter_ when he showed up to ask for a handout. His mind was already teeming with witty insults and comebacks in the face of inevitable ridicule. There were also a few half-assed explanations and even a ‘ha, gotcha!’ scenario he had tucked away in case of total failure. As he approached the closed, silver gates that blocked off the driveway from the rest of the world, he pursed his lips. Yep, really scraping the bottom of the barrel for this one. On either side of the gate, a stone pillar with statues of - what were those, corgis? - stood watch on either side. Squinting his eyes, he wondered if there were cameras hidden in the mouths or something stupid like that to make sure nobody like him got in. No, no; Owen was too dumb for something like that. Probably.

After examining the obstacle for a moment, Noah looked behind him and tried to determine how worth it all of this was. The mansion was pretty secluded so nobody would be around to see him. Really, what was the alternative? Sighing, he figured it was time to get this over with already. Standing in front of one of the weird corgi pillar-statues, the down-on-his-luck man put his hands on the stone to test it. Completely stable. It’s not like a five-foot-two, hundred-something-pound guy like him would topple it anyways. After a second of preparation, he sucked in air and began to hoist himself onto the statue. The tips of his fingers burned from the force that they gripped the stone with and once or twice, his feet nearly slipped from their purchase. His shoes were just barely equipped to grip the few and far between notches in the stone, but he made do. Finally, after a couple of minutes of struggling, he was half-slumped over the top of the pillar. The ears of the dog poked against his torso painfully, but he needed to catch his breath before continuing down. When he was ready, Noah began the descent. Or, well - he _tried_. Instead, he slipped one-third of the way down and came crashing to the ground with a wheeze.

“Fuck.” He cursed, voice flat and body now flattened on the grass. Luckily, he’d narrowly missed falling onto the pavement of the driveway, but the fall still hurt a little. Mostly, he was just winded and seriously rethinking his entire life as he rolled onto his back and stared up at the grey sky. It was going to rain soon; that was the entire reason he came here. To get out of the rain, and maybe to weasel some money out of the guy while he was at it. That’s really all his life had been since the end of that godforsaken show, anyways. Squeak by in school, get around thirteen college applications denied, get kicked out of his house because he’s a “failure” and a “disappointment”, jump from couch to couch for a couple of years, get a _few more_ college applications denied, work odd jobs but mostly use his wit to get by...Jesus, life had a funny way of kicking your ass sometimes.

When he felt like he’d laid on the ground long enough, stewing in his own self-loathing, Noah sat up and breathed out. A droplet of rain fell square on his forehead and he groaned. Well, it was too late to turn back. He was committed to his humiliation. Standing up and brushing his rumpled clothes off, he turned to face the mansion and began hiking his way up the stupidly long driveway. The more he walked, the more he felt nothing but contempt towards the million-dollar winner of the washed-up reality show he’d taken part in four years ago. There were fantastical hedges trimmed into all different kinds of shapes, a garden in the distance, statues...all the things that _he_ was supposed to have. To top it all off, when he got near the front door, the turn-around driveway had five different cars parked around the circle. _’Like he could even fit in them,'_ Noah thought bitterly. There was half a second where he felt bad for having the insulting thought, but the feeling was easy to ignore all things considered.

Thunder cracked overhead and rain began to fall in a more consistent pattern. Noah looked up at the sky, eyes lidded against the weather. His dark hair was beginning to plaster across his forehead and cheeks, and his clothes were starting to get heavy with dampness. He wasn’t too sure how long he just stood there putting off what he was about to do, but by the time he checked back into reality, he was nearly soaked.

“Alright, Noah.” He spoke to himself as he took small steps towards the front door. “Don’t screw this up. Just look like a kicked puppy! Maybe he’ll take enough pity on me and feed me for a few days. Or put me out of my misery. Whichever comes first.” He was about twenty steps from the door now. In his mind, he pictured what the buffoon’s face would look like when the door opened, what his grating voice would say; ‘Oh, Noah, I knew this would happen! Of _course_ you failed at everything you ever tried and had to come groveling to me for a shred of human decency! Let me take a picture and send it to all of my great friends before I give you some porridge and send you to sleep in one of the ten guest houses I probably have in my backyard!’

He scowled, now in front of the front door, and clenched a fist. Terrible. He should just turn around now and see if one of his siblings would let him crash again, or maybe an old high school buddy. There was no need for this. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to budge.

No. No, he was tired of burdening the people who cared about him. It was time to burden someone new. Someone who wasn’t already fed up with it.

Restraining himself from pounding on the door out of sheer frustration, he knocked - a polite sound, because he had fucking manners - and waited. The sound of dogs barking made him flinch and then sent a wave of nostalgia flowing over him. He missed his own dog. However, there wasn’t time to get trapped in _that_ sad train of thought, because the door’s lock clicked and it began to open.

He prepared to be met with immediate laughter and disdain, a sour look already on his face. Instead, there was a gasp of surprise from the man who opened the door.

“...Noah!?” Owen exclaimed, a big grin stretching the edges of his mouth. “Oh, little buddy, I’ve _missed you!_ ” Then, before he could say anything, Noah found himself pulled into what he could only describe as a bear trap if a bear trap had soft, warm skin.

Maybe...maybe he didn’t remember Owen quite as well as he thought.


End file.
